


Desideratum - Lotor's POV

by ashitanoyuki



Series: Desideratum [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-05-13 05:09:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashitanoyuki/pseuds/ashitanoyuki
Summary: Scenes from the main Desideratum fic as told from Lotor's POV. Chapters posted out of sequence but with reference to the sequence within the main fic.





	1. Chapter Twenty-three (24) Lotor's POV

**Author's Note:**

> Lotor's POV chapter twenty-three (24)

Lotor jolted awake, his heart pounding frantically as limb after limb after limb snaked around his body, steel flesh pulling him taut against a warm core, muscular and constricting. Tens of decaphoebs had passed since the last time he was abducted from his bed, but it wasn't a feeling he would ever forget. Lotor forced himself to modulate his breathing, to feign unconsciousness as he took stock of his situation, as he read his newest would-be captor.

The room was largely silent, no loud breathing or shuffling of an associate – his assailant was working alone. Four limbs wrapped around him, so his kidnapper likely had at least six limbs, maybe more. Strong grip – he could break it, but had to be prepared to grapple for his freedom.

The limbs tightened slightly around him, and his assailant muttered something unintelligible. Lotor took a measured breath, waiting until his attacker heaved him off the bed to strike.

The expected attack never came. Lotor froze as his assailant tightened their grip flush against his body, nuzzling the space between his shoulders, light fur tickling him through the thin fabric of his sleep clothes. A familiar voice muttered nonsense as warmth pressed against his back.

That - that's right, he had offered his bed to Keith. He wasn't under attack from an assailant – no, it was just Keith unconsciously seeking comfort and latching onto the warm body in his bed.

Lotor bit back a nervous laugh. He was safe, then. When he'd offered his bed to Keith, he hadn't taken into account that perhaps his general would seek him out unconsciously for warmth and comfort.

If anything, he'd been prepared to wake embarrassed in Keith's situation. That Keith might seek him out unconsciously hadn't even occurred to him.

The limbs confining him tightened, and Keith muttered something incomprehensible as he burrowed his nose into Lotor's shoulder. Hesitantly, Lotor shifted, until Keith's face was positioned at the join between Lotor's neck and shoulder.

Sleepily, Keith inhaled, then pressed forward, snuffling and taking in his scent. Lotor remained still as a column of hot flesh swelled and pressed against his back. Keith took another sleepy breath, drawing in his scent, and tightened his limbs in his sleep.

Perhaps Lotor should have expected this when he opened his bed to his general. Keith had never before indicated any sort of sensual or sexual interest towards him – Lotor had assumed his inclinations were unreciprocated.

Apparently not. Lotor's own organs were reacting erratically and demanding attention as Keith’s erection pressed against his back.  He took a deep, steadying breath and relaxed into the hold at his back. Keith whined in his sleep, his limbs tightening, and Lotor deliberately pressed backwards, surrendering to Keith's hold.

Now that he knew the limbs caging him were benign, Lotor could sink back into the embrace. Lotor exhaled, relaxing against his general, reveling in the strength in Keith's limbs. He tilted his head back, guiltily enjoying the sensation as he rubbed his cheek against Keith's own. Keith let out a contented hum and buried his face in Lotor's neck.

Well, then. Perhaps his untoward desire for Keith was not unreciprocated.

Not that he could indulge, of course. No, when Keith woke, Lotor would have to play the detached commander, unruffled by the unconscious affections of his officer. And, truly, Keith's unconscious behavior was likely simply a reaction to the lack of contact enforced throughout the military ranks, rather than an indication of interest towards Lotor himself.

But for now, while it was harmless, Lotor allowed himself to relax in the embrace of his dazzlingly clever, dangerous, _beautiful_ subordinate. No one needed to know of his indulgence. No one needed to know of his desire.

No one needed to know that sometimes, when he looked at Keith, he thought he might just be in love.


	2. Chapter Five (6) Lotor POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor's POV when taken by the Poians.

Minute tremors in the main warren comprised the only warning before a group of Poians burst from the walls as an explosion wracked the warren, knocking through structurally unstable earth. Lotor hit the back wall with a grunt, pain wrenching through his torso as ribs snapped at the impact. He let his mouth fall open, panting without dignity as he reached for his sword, only for several small, furred creatures to adhere to the defensive limb, drawing it back. Several other Poians seized his left arm, and as a group, they dragged him inexorably into the tunnels connected to the main royal warren.

  
Well. This was undignified.

  
“Where are you taking me?” he bit out as his captors spread out to balance his weight, tiny paws grasping at his torso and legs to carry him through their passageways. His lungs burned with the effort, and the sharp stab to his chest suggested that at least one broken rib was in danger of causing internal damage. He supposed he should be grateful the blast that had knocked him into the back wall had caused such minimal injuries. Broken ribs were nothing.

  
It was no matter. He would be in the medbay before it caused significant damage – he could count on that.

  
“Quiet, scum!” one of the Poians snapped in response. Original. Would it be too much to ask to be taken by a more inventive kidnapper?

  
Lotor bit back a sigh and allowed himself to relax fully. The Poians carrying him stumbled at the change in weight distribution. Incompetent, at best. His generals would have him out within a varga, even assuming the small aliens had a proper plan to secure him. He doubted they did. He'd been subject to enough abduction attempts to detect worrisome competency - and there was none here. It would be an embarrassment if they managed to hold him even a quintant.

  
His captors halted what had to be nearly a half-varga later, after entering a minimally hidden dirt warren. “And now, we wait,” one of the Poians proclaimed gleefully. “Either the rebels will come for us and will accept you as collateral, or the empire will yield to us to let you go!”

  
Pain in his ribs aside, Lotor couldn't fight his laughter. “My father would never yield simply to secure me,” he said, forcing himself to regulate his tone and laughter even as sharp bone threatened to puncture soft organs with every move. He highly doubted this pathetic attempt would ever reach his father. “No, I'm afraid you've mistaken the persons of interest. I'm not wanted for any reason by any rebels, or by my father. Before you took me, I was harmless to you. Now, it's my generals you must watch out for.”

  
As if on cue, several thumps sounded outside the warren, and the makeshift door burst open, led by a snarling Keith, and followed by a growling Zethrid and a focused Narti. Lotor smiled and allowed himself to relax.

  
His generals had come, as he knew they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My nonexistent internet connection continues to be annoying, so I wrote a mini-chapter from Lotor's POV on my phone.
> 
> ....I just realized this chapter is two for two referencing multiple abductions. In all fairness, Zarkon's son seems like a juicy target probably, but I have to doubt that Zarkon gave a proper safety detail to Lotor before he was exiled, and he certainly wouldn't sacrifice anything to free him...


	3. The Space Between Chapters Forty-One and Forty-Two (42 and 43)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor's POV before the hostage exchange.

Lotor allowed himself to panic as soon as the rebel officer sealed the door to the cargo hold.

The hold wasn’t designed for comfort. Trapped in a small space like the bargaining chip he was, it seemed fitting that he react, desperately sucking air into his dying lungs. He had only vargas left to live – quintants if he was unlucky – and stars, if that didn’t make him want to cling to life more desperately than he ever had in the past.

He hadn’t been lying when he told Keith that this wasn’t him giving up. His plan would live on, through his general. His legacy would carry on, even when he was dead. Lotor considered himself pragmatic – he’d never dared to assume he would survive his rebellion. Part of the reason he’d recruited generals in the first place was to ensure that there would be potential replacements to carry out his design if his father ever caught and killed him.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t _terrified._

If he was lucky, his father would kill him immediately. More likely, he would be taken back to Central Command for a lengthy and painful public execution. Traitors were rare within the Empire, partially due to the horrendous punishment they endured when caught. The last open traitor had been executed over the course of several quintants, every bone in their body crushed to powder, broken and brutalized in a sentence broadcast across the nearest several galaxies. Lotor imagined that such a sentence might even be considered too good for him, son of the Emperor that he was.

Lotor had endured pain, but even he had his limits.

The internal door to the cargo hold opened, and Lotor lurched backward on instinct, throwing his hands up in an automatic – if pitiful – attempt to defend himself. Belatedly, he realized that the shuttle was still moving, and the black paladin’s entry did not signify his imminent demise at the hands of his father.

He flushed, his ears already pinned against his head.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the paladin said, allowing the door to hiss shut as he settled down cross-legged across from Lotor.

Lotor inclined his head and drew his hands close to his chest. “I know,” he said quietly. “There’s no need. My father will take care of me for you in no short order.”

The paladin – Shiro, Keith had called him – was silent for a long moment. “You really do believe he’ll kill you,” he said quietly.

Lotor snorted. “It’s no matter of belief,” he said. “It’s a simple fact. My father has been reluctant to tolerate me my entire life. I imagine he’s glad for the excuse to execute me.” He’d certainly been happy for the excuse to seal Lotor away in stasis for well over nine-thousand years – even happier, upon freeing Lotor from that entrapment, to exile him to the fringes of the Empire.

Shiro frowned. “He’s your _father,”_ he said.

“I assure you, paladin, my father has never allowed familial ties to manipulate his actions or emotions,” Lotor said tightly. “Is this all you wish to discuss? I would like to fortify myself before my no-doubt unpleasant execution, if time allows.”

Shiro shook his head. “I’m not just here for that,” he said. He hesitated. “Your general – Keith. You really do care for him?”

Keith’s face flashed in Lotor’s mind, his last expression still haunting Lotor. Over the past four years, he’d seen Keith in many emotional states – but never once had he such _pain_ in his general’s eyes, not even when a rogue Snarlan had gored him through the stomach, requiring an emergency trip to the medbay. “He means the universe to me,” Lotor said quietly. “If I must die, at least I know he still lives. That has to be enough.”

Shiro nodded. “That’s what I thought,” he said. He regarded Lotor warily. “And that’s why I’m comfortable doing this.” His hand hovered briefly by his thigh, and after a tick, the black bayard materialized with a subdued flash.

Lotor’s jaw dropped as Shiro dropped the bayard in his lap and leaned forward to deactivate his cuffs. “Find a place to conceal that, and don’t make it obvious that you aren’t handcuffed,” Shiro said, offering a dry smile. “Hold Zarkon off until we can come for you. If this is some sort of trap for us, I suggest rethinking your position,” he added.

The meaning of Shiro’s words clicked into place. “I understand,” Lotor said quietly. Shiro felt safe arming Lotor because the paladins had Keith as collateral. Not that Lotor planned on betraying the paladins – quite the opposite.

Still, it was smart of the black paladin to ensure he had a bargaining chip before arming Lotor. Lotor would previously have assumed these paladins unlikely to harm Keith just to punish him, but then, he’d assumed they’d be too honorable to hand him over to his death.

At least they were arming him. At least now he had a slim chance of survival.

Shiro rose, and turned to exit the cargo hold without another word. None were needed. Lotor exhaled, and tucked the black bayard against his thigh, beneath his waist-cloak. It only took a few ticks to find a way to fasten the versatile little weapon in place, and the cloth easily hid the thing. Lotor leaned back against the cell, breathing easier now that he had a fighting chance.

He had a way to protect himself, and he wouldn’t let his father kill him so easily.


	4. Post Chapter Forty-Five (46)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Chapter Forty-Five (46) in an ambiguous timeline!

It was vanity that led him to mourn his hair.

It was a pointless endeavor. He’d grown his hair out in deference to his Altean heritage, reveling in the length and softness, silky strands that grew long in defiance of Galran standards of attractiveness. It had been a comfort, a reminder of his lost heritage. He may have lost his mother as a child, but he could carry on the smallest of Altean traditions in his hair, his clothing, his ideals.

It had served him well. Even now, the sense-memory of Keith carding gentle fingers through his hair brought him comfort.

His ravaged back screamed in protest, nearly two-hundred lashes aching and demanding attention. He wasn’t in danger, he knew. The energy whip has cauterized his wounds, and when the druids had severed his hair, they’d removed the risk of strands catching in the wounds, pulling open scabs and inviting infection.

Still. His unfortunately-cut hair curled irritatingly around his jaw and against his cheeks, reminding him of the indignity he had suffered.

Perhaps wishing for another prison cell was pathetic, but Lotor couldn’t help but compare his current conditions to his cell in the Altean brig. He’d been granted a bed there, and a fresher, and a retractable sink. He could see to his needs, and seek relative comfort. He’d had Keith.

Here, he was alone. The sentries would take him to relieve himself on a pre-set schedule, and he’d be hosed down with the rest of the prisoners. His bed was a metal floor, which barely allowed him to stretch out.

At least he didn’t have Keith. His general was likely safe, secured with the paladins.

The door hissed open, and Lotor flinched, steeling himself for a sentry. It wasn’t until the door closed behind the intruder that his eyes adjusted, and he recognized the interloper in his cell.

“Acxa,” he said flatly, staring at his once-general. “What are you doing here?”

Acxa huffed, but sank to her knees. “Turn around,” she ordered.

“And why would I do that?” Lotor demanded, curling his torso around his knees.

Acxa exhaled. “This isn’t what I wanted,” she said. “I never thought – look, I’m here to help.” She brandished the item in her hand, a tube of medical salve. “I can’t take you to the med-bay, but I can do _something.”_

Lotor tensed, staring at the tube. He could trust Acxa, probably. He’d chosen her for her sense of honor, and with her past, he doubted she’d take the opportunity to torture him medically. She’d undergone enough pain at her former base, tested on and tortured by a sadistic medic, to sympathize her to other patients. “I trust you,” Lotor said, his voice wavering slightly.

It was one thing to trust her intellectually, but he still flinched when she laid her hands on his ravaged back.

The pain faded in increments as Acxa massaged the salve into his wounds, healing burns and welts and cauterized injuries. “Why do you help me?” Lotor asked curiously.

Acxa was silent for a long moment. “I didn’t intend for this to happen,” she said finally. “When we swore allegiance to Haggar, I never thought I’d see you again.  So unless she orders me to keep away from you, I –” she broke off.

“I understand,” Lotor said quietly, relaxing as the salve tingled across his back, numbing his wounds. “Thank you, Acxa.”

Acxa rose abruptly, glaring down at Lotor. “This doesn’t mean anything,” she said coldly. “I’m not a sadist, but I’m not on your side. Don’t think you can manipulate me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Lotor said truthfully. Still, he watched her as she exited the cell block.

She was still the closest thing he had to an ally.


End file.
